Iris
by Jinxible
Summary: A young woman finds herself in the company of Merlin. He has wisked her through time in an attempt to help Britain win their war against Rome. Merlin says nothing else; she must do this on her own. However, Merlin does mention one name: Lancelot.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

Iris tried to scream but a blue painted hand silenced her cries. Through the trees, she could see a brigade of men marching and riding horses through a broken a trail. Through her hysteria, Iris saw that they wore the most unusual clothes. They resembled ancient Roman soldiers.

At least her captures had the kindness to cloth her. Iris found herself draped in a dark blue gown stopping just below her ankles, the sleeves flowing past her finger tips. A golden chain hung loosely around her waist, complementing the darkly colored slippers on her feet.

Then without warning, a group of brightly painted men burst from the tree lines only to engage in mortal combat. Iris began to struggle once more at the sight before her. These men were getting ripped to shreds without a single thought against it. Would she share the same end? Or were their other plans in her future?

Iris knew she was dreaming. She had to be having some crazy nightmare. This nights presentation she had been kidnapped by savages. How? She didn't know. Why? She wasn't sure about that either. But isn't that the mystery of dreams? Finding yourself in a strange place, filled with strange people, trying to find a way to wake up?

And suddenly, as if on queue, Iris saw an old man emerge from the mist. He was tall, thin, and he was painted blue like the others. He approached her slowly, walking stick in hand. The man that once held her, had disappeared into the fight. She hadn't even noticed.

"Save your fear for another occasion," he began, "You have no need for it in this moment, Iris."

Her eyes widened. "You know my name," she said to him. "How do you know my name," she nearly yelled at him still plagued with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"You told us," he replied simply.

"I told you, did I?" The old man nodded. "And did you reply with your name?" He nodded once more. "Funny I don't remember our conversation. Care to refresh my memory?"

"I am called Merlin."

"Okay…Merlin," she started, a hint of laughter in her voice, "you want to tell me what I'm doing here."

"You were quite unwell when we found you, Iris," he repeated her name again. "You were plagued with some sort of delirium. We nursed you for days."

"Really," she said in disbelief.

"I had hoped you would have been more cooperative once awakened, but I misread you."

Iris could only look at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Memory loss is a common side effect-"

"Memory loss?" She laughed. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I'm not quite sure what exactly is happening here, but I don't like it." Iris took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know if I'm have some kind of weird dream, or if I've been kidnapped, or…or maybe I'm being punked. I have no idea. So, I can only hope you understand my frustration."

Merlin offered her a small smile before he began to speak. "I know where you come from, Iris. You are not dreaming, though I can imagine why you must think such things."

"And you can guarantee me that," she asked him. Deep down she truly hoped she was asleep. Merlin nodded his answer. "So, I've been kidnapped then," she stated, unsure of herself.

"No," he replied. "You have not been snatched from your home. You have been brought here-"

"Brought against my will! That's called kidnapping," she clarified quickly.

"But not in the sense you believe," he countered. "You have not been taken to procure ransom or to satisfy someone's cruel passions. You were brought here to aid Britain in it's quest for freedom and unity."

Iris waited a few seconds before she spoke. "Let me see if I understand you properly, and please correct me if I'm wrong." She cleared her throat before she began again. "You, Merlin, the magician Merlin," it was the only Merlin Iris had ever heard of, "have brought me through time to help win a war…?"

"I wouldn't have used some may words, but yes. You are correct."

Iris laughed, knowing one of her friends was just fooling around. But when no one jump from the bushes and the unwavering stare on the old man face remained, her laughter stopped. She shook her head trying to make sense of it. But she knew it wouldn't come because it made no sense.

Time travel? Impossible. Merlin the Magician? Even more impossible. He was just a fictional character from Arthurian legend, wasn't he?

"Come." Merlin grasped her arm, pulling her along with him. "We haven't much time."

"Wait a second," she halted him, "I'm not a warrior. I can't help you. You sent back the wrong girl." Merlin continued to pull her along, stopping when she finally asked the only question worth answering. "Why me?" He turned around to face her, allowing her to continue. "What's so damn special about me?"

Iris turned her head in the direction of the old man's hand. It pointed towards the bloody massacre just before them.

"I hope you don't expect me to go out their," she said, amusement noted in her voice. The old man's face showed nothing. She looked back at the battle and instantly cringed. "That man just got him damn head chopped off! Are you insane? I can't go out their. I'll be killed. I don't know how to fight."

"You will learn."

"And who the hell is going to teach me? You and your wooden stick!"

"He will."

"He who," she asked through clenched teeth, annoyed with the old man.

"Lancelot."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Had she heard him correctly? There must be something blocking her ears. She paused a while before speaking, seeking much needed clarification. "I'm sorry," Iris began, "did you just say…Lancelot?" She laughed, while thinking to herself. _And I suppose 'King Arthur' is down there too._

"You've heard of him, then," Merlin questioned her. "Good. Then you shall know what to expect."

"Good? What the hell do you mean 'good'? That's not good! Nothing about this is good!"

Merlin gazed upon her as she continued her ranting, paying little attention to her protests. He more so gazed into her soul, seeking for the passion and heart he knew this young woman possessed. After all, that's why she was here. That was what Merlin asked for.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"I do have only one regret with you being here," Merlin said suddenly.

Iris crossed her arms as she spoke. "Which is," she asked him, her voice riddled with attitude.

"Your tongue never stops."

"Well, excuse me," Iris shot back at him. She had never been so offended in her life. "Normally, I'm as quiet as a mouse. But for a situation such as this, if I don't run my mouth I'll fade into the background."

"It is my wish that you fade into the background," he replied quickly. "You are a long way from home and must find your place."

"I can't believe this happening," she said, as her head fell into her hands.

"You are wasting time. You must go. You must go the Wall." Merlin ushered her closer to the tree line.

Iris immediately pulled away. "The only place I'm going is home!"

"Do this task and you shall return home," he countered. Merlin said something in a language Iris did not recognize. No sooner did he speak did a painted man appear from the trees and pull her from the cover.

The sun stung her eyes, she shut them quickly, all the while trying to fight against the man forcing her down the steep hill.

* * *

"Why did Merlin send you South of the Wall," commanded Arthur, as he held the blade against his throat.

The painted man lifted his head higher and began speaking in his native. "_Excalibur, nok te moreau pitsai coreduct._"

"Pick it up," said Arthur, referring to his fallen axe at his feet. The man defied his request, not moving for his weapon, prepare to sacrifice himself for his country. But Arthur persisted, pressing Excalibur more firmly against his throat. "Pick it up."

The painted man finally decided to obey and awaited the blow. But it never came. Arthur raised his eyes and stared off into the distance, searching the trees for something…or rather, for someone.

Arthur did not see, but Merlin stood hidden in the forest, watching…and thinking. Thinking why this man, a man of Britain blood, fought along side such beasts as Romans.

"Arthur," called Dagonet suddenly. Arthur refocused all his attention on the fallen lady in which was found amongst the tall grass. A couple of his fellow knights moved closer as well. As he approached her, Arthur noticed her right brow was bleeding, more than likely from her tumble down the hill. "Seems to be just a scratch. Where do you think they found her, Arthur?"

"Perhaps we should ask," he stated. "She stirs."

The eyelids of the woman fluttered open slowly to reveal bright and vibrant green eyes. She blinked several times, trying to focus on the images before her. Two men were staring at her intently, both seemly fascinated with her.

They were lookers, Iris had to admit. But because they were covered in both sweat and blood, that completely killed the visual. She took note of their dress. It was battle armor soldiers wore from only God knows how long ago.

"Are you well, Lady? Can you tell us your name?" Iris didn't answer. She wasn't sure if she should tell them her name. Perhaps she should give them a fake one? Iris instantly pushed the thought away when she caught one of the men surrounding her secure their sword in its sheath. She gulped, shaking her head. _Probably best not to lie to them_, she said to herself.

Arthur spoke again. "No, you are not well then, Lady," he inquired when he saw her shake her head.

Iris looked up at him, a half smile on her face. She held up right hand, shaking her head once more, while speaking. "No, no, that's not what I meant," she began quickly, "I'm fine. My head hurts a little, but overall, I'm fine."

The man she spoke to nodded his head, extending his hand to her. She took it, while the other man moved to her left. He lightly grasped her arm, help her stand on her own two feet again. She smiled her thanks.

"You have a strange voice, my Lady," began the dark haired man again. "Your accent does not resemble that of a Britain."

Iris eyes widened a bit, forgetting she was not Britain and her voice would most definitely stand out among the natural born citizens of the island. "Yes, you are correct," she said, "I am not from Britain."

"Then where do you come from?" Iris turned quickly, her eyes meeting those of a most undeniably tall, dark, and handsome man. Her green eyes left his blue ones, taking in his appearance. He too, was draped in armor. She could see the hilts of two swords behind his back. And then there was the rest…broad shoulders, olive tanned skin, dark curly hair…the list could go on forever. He took another step forward, a cocky grin on his face. "Are you sure you are well, Lady," he asked her.

"Yes," Iris stated slowly, trying desperately to convince herself of that fact. "I'm…just fine," she repeated once more. "Now…where were we?"

With his grin still in place, "I inquired where you come from." He simply stood with his hands folded in front of him, awaiting her answer.

Iris swallowed and panic filled her insides. How the hell was she going to answer that! Where she came from, where she _truly_ came from, she could not tell them for two reasons. One: They simply wouldn't believe her. And Two: Such a place didn't even exist yet!

"I…" she began shakily, "I come from…" Her mind was on overload. She was thinking desperately of something to say. Her eyes caught the background beyond the tree line. "I come from across the mountains…" She ended her sentence on a rather high noting, hoping her answer would be acceptable.

His expression seemed one of surprise. "Across the mountains," he questioned.

Iris nodded and continued. "Yes. Then once past the mountains, you must cross the sea, westward…" It was the _only_ thing she could think of. Not bad, she admitted to herself, given her current situation.

Iris closed her eyes as she lowered her head. The slight pain in her head seemed to progress with each second. She rested her hand on her forehead for a moment before continuing. "I'm sorry. A dizziness moment," she apologized kindly.

A portly man, who leaned against a wagon nearby, chuckled loudly. "No need to apologize," he stated, "Lancelot has that effect on most women!" His laughing continued for a few more moments, all the while Iris kept her gaze on the man before her, noticing his smile falter, as did his head.

"Lancelot?"

"Look at that, she's heard of you, old boy!"

"You're Lancelot," she asked him, thinking to herself how stupid she must sound. But all those thoughts vanished when he nodded. The man nodded his head, confirming it for her himself. He was Lancelot.

"And you, Lady?" He inquired again when he noticed her confusion. "You know me, but I cannot say the same for you. What is your name?"

"Iris," she said softly. "My name is Iris."

"Well," he started, "the Lady Iris of the West -"

"Merlin said I was to find you," she blurted out quickly.

Lancelot eyes widen. "Merlin spoke of Lancelot," question one of the men standing behind her. "What does he want with him?"

She shook her head. "He doesn't want him."

"Then why did he ask you to find me?"

"Merlin said Britain is at war. The natives want their freedom, and…" Iris sighed heavily before continuing. "And he said I'm suppose to help them get it."

"You're fighting with the Woads," came a voice suddenly from one of the men on horseback.

"No," she said quickly, "I'm not fighting with anybody -"

"You just said -"

"I know what I said," she interrupted. "I'm only telling you what Merlin told me. He took me from my home and brought me to this wet, cold and dreary place because he believes that I can help his people in some way. But I can't. I haven't fought a day in my life. I wouldn't even know where to start." She scratched her head, looking towards Lancelot. "It's not my intention to upset you or to confuse you." She took a step closer to him. "You're suppose to help me do this, Merlin made that very clear."

"And if I do this, what happens then?" Iris looked at him with hopeful eyes.

"He'll send me home."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Iris protested once more at the man crouched in front of her. "This really isn't necessary," she began. "It's just a scratch."

"Even the smallest of scratches can become fatal if not properly tended to." He gently secured the gauze to her forehead. He took a step back and offered his hand. Iris took it, allowing him to help her from her seated position on a large fallen tree trunk. "I am called Dagonet."

Before she could open her mouth to reply, Iris was cut off by another's voice.

"And how does the lady fair?"

Iris turned around and saw Lancelot standing tall, waiting patiently for a reply. Iris wondered if he always carried that smirk upon his face. Not that it bothered her. It was rather pleasing to the eye.

"The lady will heal without difficultly. After all," he paused a moment to look at her, "it was only a scratch."

Iris' head immediately snapped in his direction. The knight gave her a quick wink, as he spit her own words back at her. She couldn't help but smile at him for it. Dagonet was then called away by one of his fellow knights, in need of his assistance, leaving Lancelot and Iris alone.

Lancelot moved his gaze to Iris. He would not lie. She was attractive. Perhaps too attractive? She did not resemble the sort of women he was used to. She was different, seemingly out of place. Lancelot approached her slowly. Iris in turn eyed him curiously.

"Have you ever heard of personal space?"

Iris swallowed, his proximity make her uncomfortable. Lancelot smiled at her words, liking that he made her nervous. He ignored her question and asked one of his own.

"You're not a Saxon, are you?"

Iris furrowed her brow. "A Saxon?"

Lancelot nodded. "Dangerous beings, they are," he continued. "Ruthless and cruel."

"I'm not any of those things," she said quickly, "the exact opposite actually."

"A harmless stranger," he questioned her.

"Yes! Completely harmless I promise! Completely harmless and begging for your help!" A frustrated sigh left her lips before she continued. "I know you don't believe me." She laughed softly. "Hell, I wouldn't believe me either." She searched his eyes for a small bead of hope. "I'm not lying to you-"

"Oh, yes," he cut in, "the war between worlds. Britain and Roman. An old magician need not predict the present." Iris only looked at him. "And then, we have you. Or rather _I_ have you." Lancelot paused. "So what am I to do with you?"

Iris shrugged. "I don't know. Merlin wasn't specific."

"Have you ever fought before," he inquired. "Are you familiar with any weaponry?"

"No," she began, "but if you were to teach me, you would have to worry about me. One less burden on your shoulders."

"You're not my responsibility," Lancelot stated firmly, crossing his arms. "My service to Rome is over. I have no reason to help you."

"Alright, I suppose that's fair. However, keeping with the spirit of fairness," began Iris, "this isn't a quest for Rome."

"I don't work for Merlin either."

"But-"

"Enough," he interrupted her, paused a moment before continuing. "I have never before encountered anyone quite like you. You are very persistent."

"Obviously," she confirmed.

"Are you sure you're not a Saxon?"

Iris rolled her eyes and took a step back. She extended her arms and asked, "Do I look like a Saxon?"

Lancelot shook his head. "No. Your hair is darker." He then lightly grasped the lone black strand that hung just above her eyes. "And it's far too curly to be that of Saxon."

Lancelot smiled as she jumped slightly when he moved the stray lock from her face. He laughed softly, proceeding the other way. "Come along," he said.

Iris watched his retreating form. Was he going to help her? More importantly, did he and his comrades even believe her. Iris snapped out of her stupor. She lifted her dress and rushed to catch up with him.

"Wait," she called out to him. "Where are we going?"

"The Wall." Iris stopped suddenly.

_You must go the Wall._ Merlin's words echoed in her head. _Do this task and you shall return home._ "You had better be right old man," Iris whispered to herself, quickening her pace, attempting to catch up with the knight in front of her.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"You must be very proud of your husband," said Iris.

The woman before her began to laugh. "Oh, you are adorable," she began. "Bors is not my husband. It's more of a …"

"Mutual understanding," Iris finished under her breath.

A large group of children surrounded the portly knight, giving away hugs and quick kisses. "So many children." It was a beautiful sight, she had to admit. A definite tear jerker. "Do I count eleven?" Vanora nodded. "That's a lucky number where I come from."

"The boys tell me you are from the western lands." Iris nodded. "Never been west before. Is Britain anything like your home?"

Iris shook her head quickly. "No, I can honestly say this place is nothing like it." Vanora continued to stare, like she was waiting for her to elaborate. Iris thought quickly and said, "There are a lot less trees."

"Come on all my little bastards" yelled Bors suddenly. His sons and daughters cheered and followed their father into the massive fortress that was The Wall. Vanora waved goodbye, catching up with her family.

"I'll see you later dear," she called back to Iris.

Lancelot caught the departure of Vanora and approached Iris silently from behind. He bent his head just above her ear. "I see you've met Vanora."

Iris jumped when she heard his voice. She quickly turned to face him. "Personal space," she remarked to him again.

Lancelot smirked. "I'm sorry, I forgot."

"Yeah, I bet you did." She turned her attention back to Bors, Vanora and their children. She sighed heavily at an old memory that suddenly resurfaced. Lancelot took note and couldn't help but ask.

"Anything wrong?"

"What are you talking about," she asked not bothering to face him.

"You whimpered for a moment there. Your eyes became a bit gloomy as well. I thought something might be the matter-"

Her head snapped in his direction. "No Lancelot," she began, "nothing is the matter!"

"But there was something-"

"Something that doesn't have anything to do with you," she stated firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. She spoke again, changing the subject, slightly calmer. "Vanora said she would see me later." Lancelot looked confused. "What happens later?"

After thinking for a short minute, all uncertainty disappeared from his features. He grinned from ear to ear, suddenly reminding Iris of the Cheshire Cat from _Alice in Wonderland_. It was very difficult to keep a straight face.

"Fun," he answered easily. She furrowed her brow, waiting for him to continue. "Come now, you know what fun is," he said again. "Drinking, gambling…women…" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

"Oh, what fun that will be," she replied, contempt dripping from her lips. "And after tonight's entertainment," Iris cleared her throat, "then shall you help me?"

"I am undecided," he said, gazing at her curiously. "I still know nothing about you. And I have a strange feeling that you mean to keep it that way."

"Is it a crime to have secrets in this country?"

"Depends on the secret."

* * *

The tavern was littered with trash. The trash consisting of disgusting, smelly and sweaty men. At nearly every table, there was a group of about five or six men drinking and gambling the night away. Loud chanting and joyous yells filled her ears as Iris sat in the tavern with her forehead against the table. She felt someone nudge her, nearly causing her to fall over. She lifted her head and her eyes met a tall glass of ale.

"Drink up," said the blond haired knight the other had referred to as Gawain. He shoved the glass closer to her.

Iris frowned as the liquid began drip from the sides a bit. She turned up her nose while saying, "No, thank you." She looked at him as he took a swig of his own drink. "Is it always this noisy?"

"Usually," he said. "The Romans tend to get a little wild."

"Before or after they've decided to drink the entire bar," she inquired.

Gawain smiled. "There is a trick to drowning them out." Iris looked at him hopefully, awaiting his reply. "When in doubt, act like the Romans do." He pushed the mug towards her again. "Drink up," he repeated.

Iris looked at the glass of ale and sighed heavily. She grasped the handle and brought the glass to her lips, taking a small swig. She coughed instantly.

"Revolting," was all Iris could say. Gawain couldn't contain his laughter.

"Not your brand, Milady?"

Iris shook her head. "No, it is not."

"Well," asked Gawain, "perhaps something else. Tell me, what is your drink of choice?"

"Water," she replied.

Gawain laughed once more before downing the remainder of his drink. He stood from the table, kindly offering to return with her requested cup of water. She yelled her thank you above the noisy crowd hoping it had reached his ears.

A couple minutes passing, Iris sighed heavily, intent of laying her head back upon the table, when a Roman soldiers sat himself down next to her. She turned her head away quickly, fearing his body odor would be toxic.

"Hello, my lovely," he said, the words slurring together. Iris smiled quickly, then turned her attention away from him, hoping he would leave. "You are very pretty." Of course, she would not be that lucky. Iris turned toward him.

"Thank you," she said politely, looking away once more.

"Why is it that I have never seen you inside The Wall before?"

"Because I don't live in Britain," Iris answered truthfully, as the Roman seemed to get even closer to her.

"Well," he began, "that can be easily remedied."

Iris suddenly felt a firm squeeze on her right thigh and then she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders. She snapped her gaze to the drunken soldier and saw a mischief glint in his eyes, knowing it meant only one thing.

"Unfortunately for you," Iris began, lifting his hand from her thigh, "that's not going to happen." She then slid in the opposite direction, just far enough for his arm to fall from her shoulders. The Roman, in his drunken state, ignored her rejection and closed the newly formed gap between them. She spoke again when she felt his fingers upon her once more.

"I'm with someone," she explained to him, but it wasn't good enough.

"He's not here now," he said, attempting to nuzzle her neck.

Iris stood abruptly and turned to leave, but she seconds later she found she could not. The Roman halted her. He pulled her back down on the bench beside him, gripping her upper arm, fisting the material of her dress between his fingers. Due to the forcefulness of his grip, Iris felt and heard the top of her sleeve rip exposing her shoulder.

"Sit down," he roared, not releasing his hold. His demeanor changed a second later. "Such a spirited wench," he said merrily, "I like that." Not thinking it was possible, but the Roman pulled Iris closer still. His gaze was fixed on her lips as he began lowering his head toward her own.

In the corner of her eye, Iris could see the glass of ale that Gawain had been so kind to offer her. With her free hand, she picked it up and threw the malt flavored liquid in his face, causing him to stop his movements and release his hold. Iris dropped the glass in complete shock. She couldn't believe what she had just done, nor could the Roman soldier. The few that had witnessed the ordeal were now laughing at the soldier as he attempted to wipe his face clean. There was no point, however. He was drenched through. The snickering only enraged him more.

"You little bitch," the Roman yelled while lifting his hand, swinging it in her direction.

* * *

Lancelot was not having a good night gambling wise. These bloody Romans had taken him for all he as worth and then some. He thought he might have gotten lucky in the best of the three match against one of the lieutenants, but he was sadly mistaken.

Lancelot maneuvered through the crowd and tables, stopping when he reached the bar. A blonde barmaid saw him approach. Before he could request a drink, Lancelot was catered to like royalty. The young wench handed him a full pint. He thanked her silently with a seductive grin. He wasn't surprised when she smiled back.

They always returned the gesture. Or at least, almost all of them. This new acquaintance of his, Iris, was the only exception. She was nothing like the women he was used to. She was very articulate, graceful, knew how to use her brain, and seemed very confident about herself.

"Did you win this time," came the voice of Gawain suddenly. Lancelot look to his left and saw his fellow knight trying to capture the attention of a barmaid. He smiled at his friend.

"Of course I did," he replied, laughing as he did so.

Gawain smiled. "Lost again then," he asked. Lancelot said nothing, instead he drunk from his glass.

Vanora appeared and Gawain waved her down to his side of the bar. She approached him with a smile.

"Vanora, a cup of your finest water." Lancelot's head snapped toward him, eying him strangely. "Not for me," he assured him. "Apparently, your new lady friend does not drink."

"That's not surprising," replied Lancelot. Vanora quickly returned with the cup of water and sat it on the counter. Gawain grabbed it and turned to leave, but Lancelot's voice stopped him. "So, what do you think? Should I trust her?"

Gawain shrugged. "I think the question you should be asking yourself is it worth trusting Merlin? It's obvious," he began, "whatever is to be done, Merlin put her up to this. She came with it out right."

"But what if Merlin is holding her against her will or something?"

Gawain smirked. "Why should that matter to you," he asked. "Unless," he paused for a short second, "you like her."

"Don't be ridiculous," replied Lancelot, finishing his beverage

"You like her, don't you" he laughed. "You do! That's why you haven't sent her away yet."

"Sit down!"

Both knights turned around at the sudden outburst. Just three tables away, Iris was in the company of very huge and very drunk Roman officer. Lancelot paid close attention to his relentless hold on her, determined not to let her go. He could see him speaking to her, but he was too far out of range to hear their conversation. Lancelot's jaw tensed as he watched the show in front of him.

"Makes friends fast doesn't she," said Gawain, when he saw the Roman begin to lean in for a kiss. Iris suddenly grasped the glass that sat on the table and tossed its contents into the Romans face. Laughter found Gawain quickly as it did many others in the tavern.

"You little bitch!"

Lancelot anticipated the next move, for he had scene it dozens of time. Within just a few inches from her face, Lancelot easily halted the soldiers assault. The Roman officer looked up at the Sarmation knight and then at his captured wrist.

"A drink to the face normally means she's not interested," began Lancelot. "Trust me, I know." The Roman yanked himself free of the grip and stood tall, face to face with him.

"So, this is the bed she warms at night," the Roman said in disbelief. "You best mind your own, Sarmation," he sneered, stepping closer to him.

"Have you ever heard of personal space," asked Lancelot.

Without warning, the Roman's fist came hurdling at Lancelot. He leaned back just far enough to evade the attack. The Roman swung again. This time Lancelot caught the punch within his hand. He then shoved him backward, watching the drunk hit the dusty tavern floor.

"This is the moment you decide to remember personal space," Iris asked in astonishment.

Lancelot turned to face her, giving her a crooked smile. "At least I'm learning," he told her. "I thought you'd be pleased."

Iris' eyes widened suddenly. "Behind you," she shouted at him. Lancelot spun about once more, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword that was sheathed upon his back. The tip of the blade pointed directly beneath the Roman's neck.

"Was there something else," Lancelot asked curiously. The Roman only gulp at his predicament. Two of his fellow officers grasped his shoulders, convincing him to yield to the Sarmation. They pulled him away quietly in an attempt to preserve the remainder of the night.

Now Lancelot was able to give Iris his full attention. Her eyes followed the Roman as his friends attempted to calm him down. Lancelot noticed her cheeks were flushed and her hair a bit tousled. "I must admit," he began, "I'm quite enjoying this new look of yours."

"Excuse me," she questioned him. It was then Lancelot took a seat beside her. She watched intently as he brought his hands to her shoulder, his fingers tracing over the torn fabric.

"Very racy," he commented. Lancelot was deliberately avoiding skin to skin contact. And although she would never admit it, Iris felt a little disappointed.

Clearing her thoughts, Iris found her voice once more. "I'm fine by the way," she said batting his hand away. "Thanks for asking."

Lancelot chuckled at her words. "My pleasure," he boasted.

"Oh, please! You did nothing no other man could have done!"

"True," he began. "But how many other men would have made the choice to do it." Iris' eyes softened a bit as he continued. "I saw no one else offer any assistance."

"So why did you?" As Lancelot opened his mouth to speak, he stopped, interrupted by the sudden appearance of Vanora and Gawain.

"Oh, my poor dear! Are you all right," Vanora asked Iris, grasping her shoulders lightly. Iris smiled sweetly at the woman and nodded. "Thank goodness Lancelot was nearby."

Iris shot him a side ways glance, that smirk never disappearing from his face. "Yes," she began. "I don't know what I would have done without him." Lancelot's smile grew even bigger at her comment, despite the sarcasm. For some reason he enjoyed her being cross with him.

"Come on, I shall take you away from all this," began Vanora, grasping Iris' hand lightly. "You will stay with us tonight. I know you must be dreadfully tired."

"Yes, I am. Thank you so much," replied Iris. "You are my true savior tonight, Vanora." She gladly let the dark haired woman pull her through the crowd.

They paused at the entrance of the tavern for a moment and Iris chanced a quick glance behind her. She turned forward just as swiftly when she found him staring. Lancelot's eyes remained on her until she departed.

A hand suddenly obstructed his view, waving frantically in front of him, breaking the trance. Finally gaining his attention, Gawain asked only one thing. "Are you sure you don't like her?"


End file.
